Raphael (Deadly Virtues #1)(10)

Father Murray curled his cheek into the priest’s hand, feeling his spirit soothe, and kissed his palm.

“You did well, Francis.”

“Thank you, Your Excellency.” His voice was merely a whisper.

“Now, go wait for me in the car. I won’t be long.” When Father Murray stepped out into the empty hallway, Father Quinn’s blessed touch still warming his cheek, silence and darkness greeted him. He glanced toward the main doors, but his heart tugged in his chest and persuaded him to walk in the opposite direction. On light and silent feet, Father Murray followed the shadows to the stairs and up to the first floor. It wasn’t the first time he had ventured into the private rooms of the nuns. As if a beacon were calling to his heart, he followed his feet until they stopped outside a nondescript wooden door, its panels chipped and worn with age.

Checking there was no one around, Father Murray leaned his ear against the wood and listened. All beyond the door was silent. The sister must have been done with evening prayers and already asleep. Smoothing his palm down the door, Father Murray allowed his fingers to wrap around the iron knob and quietly turn it to the right. The door opened, and Father Murray peered through the inch-wide gap he had made.

He froze.

Every muscle locked into rigid ice as the view before him was revealed.

Sister Maria Agnes was undressing, the dim glow of a single low light on her nightstand surrounding her body in an ethereal halo. Father Murray felt his breathing change from soft exhales to short, sharp puffs as Sister Maria removed her habit. She was as meticulous in undressing as she was in walking. Every move was gentle and measured, purposeful in her duty. Father Murray felt a familiar stirring in his groin as Sister Maria slipped into her nightwear and began removing her headdress. The white material gave way to dirty-blond hair he had never before seen, captured in a tight bun at the base of her head. Slowly, the trainee nun pulled out pin after pin until there was a small pile on her empty desk. With delicate hands, Sister Maria proceeded to unravel her hair. Down and down it went, falling past her shoulders, the center of her back . . . until it landed below her rear. Father Murray’s eyes widened as the nun raked through the silky strands with her hands, followed by a simple comb. And then his heart stilled. His blood stopped pumping as a memory flashed across his mind.

“It’s the hair, isn’t it?” Father Murray said to Raphael, triumph flooding his face. “It’s the hair.”

Father Murray quickly closed the door and raced to Father Quinn’s office. He burst inside just as Father Quinn hung up the phone.

“Father Murray, I told you to wait in the car,” the high priest snapped.

“I know how we get him,” Father Murray said breathlessly. “I know how we capture Raphael.” Father Murray smiled, his body radiating pure joy. “And I know it will absolutely not fail. He’ll be ours. He’ll finally be ours.”





Chapter Three


The loud clang of the bell broke through Maria’s sleep. Hymns sung by the sisters walking the hallways drifted under the gap at the bottom of the door. It was still dark outside, the Massachusetts winter still holding tightly on to its final chilly breaths. Maria sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She blinked into the dark and reached over to switch on her lamp. The light bathed the room in a warm glow. Maria smiled as she heard the birds beginning to sing outside the curtain-less window. The owl that nested in the nearest tree surrendered his night song to the early-rising jays’ serenade.

Maria kneeled on the cold wooden floor and clasped her hands in prayer. Closing her eyes, she whispered into the silent room. When she was done, she got to her feet, moved to her closet, and dressed in fresh robes. Finally, she retrieved her headdress. She laid the white garment on the edge of the bed and sat down at her desk. A small mirror was the only thing on the desk. That and her comb. Maria glanced at her reflection as she ran the comb down her thick strands. As with every morning, without fail, she didn’t see the reflection of now, but that of years ago. Of that girl. The one who still cowered in a corner of her soul. The girl she couldn’t reach to heal. To soothe or convince that all would be okay.

After all the knots were freed, Maria brought her long hair into a ponytail, then wound it into a low bun at the base of her neck. Pins held it in place. With a deep breath, meeting her own blue eyes in the mirror, Maria placed her headdress over her head and dusted out any stray creases that might have crept onto her black robes.

As Maria walked to the door, a sense of duty and peace washed over her. Convent life had given her a freedom she’d believed she would never find. The rigid schedule and deep, silent prayers were a balm to her soul, a Band-Aid to her ever-bleeding heart.

The second Maria set foot in the hallway, she cast her eyes down and clasped her hands, tucking them into the sleeves of her robe. Her feet led the way to the refectory for breakfast. Maria focused on the stone floor beneath her. Soon she would pledge her final vows to the church, committing herself to a life of sacrifice and servitude. A life loving God and thanking Him for saving her, for singling her out of the many who had perished before her.

Maria recalled her first vows. She relived the sense of happiness and joy she’d felt rain over her body and mind as she donned the white dress, as she kneeled before Father Quinn and took her first step in becoming a dedicated bride of Christ. Something happened to her on that day. Something pulled at her heart. Her gut. Something that told her she was about to embark on the journey that would explain why she had been spared. God was warning her that her reason for surviving was about to be revealed. And she was ready to receive the message and give all of herself to the task. Mind, body, and soul if needs must.